"Look at him, Allen. Just look at the grace in those lines. Absolute perfection, isn't he?"
Hagrid's voice was a thick, gravelly whisper, vibrating with a level of genuine adoration that he hadn't even shown the delicate fairies. To Hagrid, beauty wasn't found in porcelain skin or shimmering wings; it was found in the raw, untamed power of a creature that could snap a man's arm as easily as a dry twig.
But for the crowd of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs gathered at the paddock's edge, "beautiful" wasn't exactly the first word that came to mind. "Terrifying" or "lethal" felt more appropriate.
Buckbeak was a living contradiction of biology. He possessed the sleek, muscular haunches and sweeping tail of a chestnut stallion, but from the chest up, he was pure predator. His front legs were massive, feathered talons that ended in curved, steel-colored claws. His head was that of an ancient, giant eagle, dominated by a sharp, hooked beak and eyes the color of molten orange.
A heavy leather collar was cinched around his neck, the iron chain clinking against the fence as he shifted his weight. Despite his formidable appearance, there was a profound loneliness in the way he stood in the center of the vast, empty enclosure.
Hagrid reached into a bucket and tossed a large, silver-scaled fish over the fence. Buckbeak didn't even let it hit the ground. With a snap of his beak that sounded like a gunshot, he caught it mid-air and began to swallow it whole, his orange eyes scanning the horizon.
"I had a whole herd of 'em out here yesterday," Hagrid muttered, leaning closer to Allen. He lowered his voice so the other students couldn't hear. "But after I chewed over what you said... well, I figured it was best to send the rest back deep into the Forest. They're safer there. But Buckbeak here... he's a stubborn one. Refused to budge. It's like he knows something's brewing."
Hagrid sniffled, surreptitiously wiping a stray tear with the back of his hand, which was roughly the size of a dinner plate.
"He's magnificent, Hagrid," Allen said, and he meant it.
As the initial shock wore off, the other students began to see what Allen saw. The way the light caught the Hippogriff's coat, turning the feathers from slate gray to a shimmering, iridescent silver. The dignity in the way he held his head. He wasn't just an animal; he was a king in a cage.
"Professor, I want to go in," Allen said suddenly. The request wasn't born of bravado, but a genuine pull he felt toward the beast. There was a magnetic quality to Buckbeak's wild energy that called to the adventurer in him.
Hagrid winced, his face twisting with worry. "Now, Allen, let's not get ahead of ourselves. The Ministry's already breathin' down my neck because of that blonde brat's arm. If anything happened to you..."
"Nothing will happen," Allen interrupted, his voice calm and steady. "I've studied them, Professor. I know the protocol. They're proud, not malicious. You don't insult a Hippogriff unless you're looking for a trip to the infirmary. You wait for them to acknowledge you. You show respect, and you earn theirs in return."
Allen stepped closer to the gate, his gaze never leaving the creature. "Besides, think about the optics. If the top student in the year can successfully interact with Buckbeak right after Malfoy's 'accident,' it proves the fault lies with the wizard, not the beast. We need a success story to counter the Malfoy narrative."
That was the clincher. Hagrid's eyes brightened as he processed the logic. A successful demonstration by Allen would be the perfect defense.
"Right... right, you've got a point there," Hagrid grunted, his resolve hardening. "If it's you, Allen... I reckon you've got the head for it. Come on then."
Hagrid unlatched the heavy gate and led Allen into the tall grass of the paddock. He unhooked the chain and slid the leather collar off Buckbeak's neck. Free of his tether, the Hippogriff let out a sharp, piercing cry and unfurled his twelve-foot wingspan, the wind from the movement whipping Allen's hair across his face.
The students outside the fence went deathly silent. A few Hufflepuff girls turned away, clutching each other's hands, convinced they were about to witness a massacre.
Allen stood his ground. He didn't reach for his wand. Instead, he activated that subtle, innate connection he felt with all living things—a quiet hum of empathy. He could feel Buckbeak's mood; the creature wasn't angry, merely restless and deeply suspicious.
"Easy now," Hagrid whispered, stepping back. "Keep your eyes on him. Don't blink. If you blink too much, he'll think you're hidin' something. Trust is everything to a bird of prey."
Allen's eyes began to sting from the dry wind, but he kept them wide, locked onto that fierce, orange-yellow orb. Buckbeak tilted his head, his beak clicking softly. He was evaluating the human before him, weighing Allen's soul with the predatory precision of an eagle.
"Now... the bow," Hagrid signaled.
Allen didn't hesitate. He maintained eye contact until the last possible second, then bent low, sweeping into a deep, formal bow. He stayed there, staring at the crushed grass beneath his boots, his heart thumping a steady rhythm against his ribs. He could feel the weight of the creature's gaze on the back of his neck.
Seconds stretched into what felt like hours. The silence in the paddock was absolute, save for the distant rustle of the Forbidden Forest.
Just as Hagrid opened his mouth to tell Allen to retreat, the sound of shifting weight reached Allen's ears. He looked up to see a sight that made the students outside gasp in unison.
Buckbeak had sunk his scaly front knees into the dirt. His great, feathered head lowered in a mirror of Allen's gesture. It was a perfect, regal bow.
"He did it!" someone shouted from the fence, breaking the tension.
"He's a natural!" Hagrid roared, his face splitting into a massive grin. "Go on then, Allen! Give 'im a pat! He's accepted you!"
Allen stepped forward, his hand outstretched. He didn't rush. He moved with the slow, deliberate grace of someone approaching a ticking bomb. When his fingers finally made contact with the cold, hard surface of the beak, Buckbeak didn't snap. Instead, he closed his eyes, leaning his heavy head into Allen's palm. The feathers around his neck were surprisingly soft, like fine silk layered over steel cable.
The cheers from the Ravenclaws were deafening. "I knew it!" "Allen can do anything!"
But Allen wasn't listening to the crowd. He was looking at the broad, feathered back of the beast. Before Hagrid could even suggest it, Allen caught a handful of the gray feathers and vaulted himself upward. He landed squarely behind the wing joints, his legs gripping the horse-like barrel of the Hippogriff.
"Wait—Allen!" Hagrid started to warn, but it was too late.
"Go on, Buckbeak! Show me!" Allen urged, leaning forward.
Hagrid, seeing the fire in Allen's eyes, gave Buckbeak's hindquarters a massive, open-handed slap. "UP!"
The power was instantaneous. Buckbeak's hind legs bunched and exploded, launching them into the air. Allen felt a violent jolt as the ground fell away. Those twelve-foot wings snapped open, catching the updraft with a sound like sails snapping in a gale.
They didn't just fly; they ascended.
The first few seconds were a chaotic blur of motion. Every time the wings flapped, Allen felt himself being tossed upward, his stomach performing somersaults. He gripped the neck feathers tightly, careful not to pull too hard, his knees white-knuckled against the creature's ribs.
Then, they leveled out.
The wind was a roaring wall against his face, making it impossible to breathe or see. But then, the magic of his Enchanted Wizard Robe kicked in. A pair of sleek, translucent goggles shimmered into existence over his eyes, and the air around him seemed to settle into a manageable stream.
Now, he could truly see.
They soared over the Black Lake, the surface a sheet of hammered silver reflecting the afternoon sun. He could see the Giant Squid lounging near the surface, a dark blotch in the blue. They swept over the Quidditch pitch, the hoops looking like tiny rings from this height, and circled the jagged spires of the Ravenclaw tower.
The sensation was entirely different from a broomstick. A broom was a tool—precise, cold, and mechanical. This was a partnership. He could feel the warmth of Buckbeak's body, the ripple of muscle under the skin, and the rhythmic heartbeat of a living engine. It was raw, exhilarating, and slightly terrifying.
Buckbeak let out a triumphant shriek that echoed off the hills, and Allen couldn't help but laugh into the wind.
After a final, sweeping turn over the Great Hall, Buckbeak began his descent. The ground rushed up to meet them with dizzying speed. Allen leaned back, holding on for dear life as the Hippogriff flared his wings to break their momentum.
THUMP.
They landed with a jarring impact that Allen felt all the way up his spine. Buckbeak trotted a few paces to steady himself before coming to a halt right in front of a stunned Hagrid.
Allen slid off the creature's back, his legs feeling a bit like jelly, but his heart was soaring. He turned back to the beast, who was huffing softly, his orange eyes wide and bright. Buckbeak stepped forward and rested his heavy, feathered head on Allen's shoulder, a gesture of pure, unadulterated affection.
Allen reached up, stroking the sleek feathers of the neck. In that moment, he completely understood Hagrid's obsession. These weren't monsters; they were spirits of the sky, trapped by the small-mindedness of people like Malfoy.
"That was... something else," Allen whispered, his voice full of wonder.
He'd ridden many things in his time—monstrous lizards in dark caves, centaurs through ancient groves, and the ethereal Gaia. Gaia was certainly more comfortable, a ride like floating on a cloud.